Your Love is My Turning Page
by valonqar
Summary: "War has changed you, Ser." She stops once more, takes another long drink of her wine, finishing the goblet before setting it down in front of her.    "War has changed us all, my lady."


**Title: **Your Love is My Turning Page

**Author: **valonqar

**Fandom: **A Song of Ice and Fire

**World: **Books (AU, post-ADWD)

**Characters: **Sansa Stark, Jaime Lannister

**Ships: **Sansa/Jaime

**Rating: **T

**Summary: ** "_War has changed you, Ser." She stops once more, takes another long drink of her wine, finishing the goblet before setting it down in front of her._

"_War has changed us all, my lady."_

xxx

The first time he sees her she is eight-and-ten, and clearly a woman grown.

Sansa Stark is no longer the pretty little girl he remembers from King's Landing, when she was to marry his son. She is all woman as she sits on the throne in the Eyrie, young Robert Arryn squirming in her lap. The boy is a small, fragile thing, but she is strong. It is there in her eyes, the blue eyes she shared with her mother, and Jaime cannot help but be awed by her presence.

He wonders if it was the work of Joffery, or Petyr, or Cersei, or even both that made her this way. It does no good, of course, as they are all long dead, but he still wonders, if only for a second.

"Ser Jaime Lannister," her voice is stronger as well, no longer soft and timid as it was when she was a girl. She remembers her courtesies, though. Lady Stark always remembered her courtesies. "I have been told you have been sent to return me home."

She looks doubtful, and he cannot blame her. Jaime learned long ago that trust is as worthless as honor, and he is certain that this woman has too. But he needs to do this, so he gives her a small nod.

"The Queen herself has sent me with direct orders, my lady. Winterfell awaits you, should you so choose to return it." _Or what is left of it_, he thinks, but does not say. After all she has been through, he thinks he can do her this kindness.

Lady Sansa does not speak for a long time. Robert Arryn looks like he might die at the thought of his cousin leaving, but her face shows no emotion. He had expected her to be elated, overjoyed, to be bursting to the seams with excitement. Instead she merely tilts her head lightly to the side and asks, "When may we leave, Ser?"

"Upon the morrow, if you wish." He hopes it is so. Jaime can't imagine spending much more time in the dreadful castle.

"Upon the morrow it shall be."

xxx

The Lord of the Vale goes into hysterics when they depart, and after a kiss on the forehead from Sansa he is taken back to his chambers, kicking and screaming.

They begin the long trek out of the Vale with Sansa by his side, his group of Targaryen knights, Queen's men following behind them. She is quiet as they ride, auburn hair swept up into a neat bun and eyes trained hard straight ahead. He would like to make her laugh, he thinks. A pretty woman like her deserves to laugh.

"You must be anxious to return home after all these years, my lady." It is a weak start at conversation, but a start nonetheless. She furrows her brow for a moment, as if he has asked a particularly perplexing question, and shakes her head.

"I know what awaits me, Ser. I am well aware of what my home has become." Her cool blue eyes are filled with longing for a childhood that was cut too short, and Jaime cannot help but feel a tinge of sympathy. "Would you be anxious to return to a ruin where your brothers were slaughtered?"

Her words come as a shock to him, and Jaime clears his throat before responding, unsure of what to say. "Then why do you return?"

This time, she does not pause. "There must always be a Stark in Winterfell."

Somewhere in the distance a wolf howls, and they fall silent once more.

xxx

The camp they make is dreary, but the heavy rains and slick mud make it impossible for the horses to continue down the mountain. The tents are hastily set up, and Sansa is soaking wet by the time hers is prepared.

She doesn't seem to mind the rain, though. Jaime watches her curiously as she kneels in the mud, soiling her pretty blue dress. She turns her eyes to the sky and her mouth begins to move, slowly and hardly discernible through the falling sheets of water, but enough so that he can just catch glimpses. _She's praying_, he realizes, and then he realizes something else. _She's praying, and I've forgotten how_.

It's a sad thought, and he turns his back to her before he allows himself to dwell upon it.

"Ser Jaime." He hears his name but minutes later, from where she is kneeling. He turns back to face her then, eyes questioning but not saying a word. The rain has slowed slightly, and she has stood from where she was in the dirt moments before. "Would you like to come into my tent for a cup of wine?"

Jaime is unsure of what to say, so instead he simply nods and follows her through the flaps of the red and gold fabric.

His squire has set up two chairs and a small table in the small tent next to her bedroll, and Jaime has a sneaking suspicion that she had planned this meeting well in advance. But she is motioning for the boy to leave before he can ask, and soon it is just the two of them in the candle light.

"You are kind to invite me here, my lady." Usually when drinking with a travelling companion Jaime would be making bawdy jokes and sarcastic comments, but this is the future Queen in the North he is speaking to, and he has no desire to insult her lest she report her displeasure to Queen Daenerys. So instead he remains courteous and slightly detached, the true knight that they both know he is not.

"Tell me, Ser Jaime," her voice is sharp and cool, and tells him right away that she did not invite him here for niceties. Sansa takes a large sip of her wine before continuing, and he allows himself to be mildly impressed that a woman her size is drinking so steadily. "Is there really any point in me returning to Winterfell? Is there anything left to salvage, or do I waste my time?"

It is not an easy question to answer. Jaime knows he should lie to her, tell her that everything will be fine upon her arrival, but she deserves the truth. Sansa Stark has been fed lies the past five years, and he knows that it is only right to tell her what she has asked to know. It has been ages since Jaime has thought of doing what is _right_, and he allows himself to be disturbed by that thought for just a moment before answering her question the only way he can think to.

"Does it matter, my lady?" She looks at him curiously, but he continues on. "Winterfell is a ruin, but you said it yourself truer than I can: there must always be a Stark in Winterfell." He pauses for a moment before continuing, unsure if he should but doubtful that he shouldn't. "And you are the last Stark left."

It must have been the right thing, because she smiles. A sad smile, and not a true smile, but it is the first smile she has directed at him, and Jaime will take that as a minor victory. "War has changed you, Ser." She stops once more, takes another long drink of her wine, finishing the goblet before setting it down in front of her.

"War has changed us all, my lady."

xxx

It has been three nights, and the rains are still so heavy that they haven't moved an inch.

Sansa does not seem anxious to go anywhere, he thinks. She seems content to sit in her tent and read, or sew, or do other feminine things, if she is not out by the trees praying. Jaime knows this because he has taken on the role as her personal shadow, following her every move and standing guard outside her tent for all hours of the day. He has become less of a lion than a dog, the men say, and some even question whether the lion is fucking the wolf.

_Someone must protect her,_ he thinks. _Someone must protect her, and that someone must be you. You have sworn to save her - make good on that promise, and all good will follow_.

Jaime may not believe in gods, but he believes in that much.

She calls him into her tent to drink with her nearly every night, and each night he is astonished by how much wine the small woman can consume and still keep her wits about her. He mentions this on the first laugh and she chuckles, one of the closest things he has gotten to laughter from her the whole time he has been escorting her.

"My husband Harry was fond of his drink. I learned to be, too."_ Harry the Heir_. Jaime had heard much about the man. One would think that the lady was almost fond of her late husband, were it not for the way that her eyes seemed to harden when she spoke of him. He wondered how her eyes might look if he spoke of Tyrion, but since he had had their marriage dissolved Jaime thought she might not think too poorly of him. There was no need for him to mention his brother, however, so he merely gulped back his goblet of wine before pouring himself another.

"It is a rather attractive quality when a woman can hold her wind, you know." Jaime can feel the blood rushing through his head, his fifth cup now nearly gone, and from the flush on Sansa's cheeks she is not so far behind him. He even manages to draw a small, girlish giggle from her, and that is when he knows she is drunk.

"Do you find I have many attractive qualities, Ser?" Her tone is coy, and he sees the walls slowly starting to crumble as the alcohol continues to flow. They have drank more than usual, he realizes. At least two cups more.

Jaime knows he should stop talking, but his mouth seems to have been disconnected from his brain, because he find he cannot. "Many and more, my lady."

She smiles at this, and leans forward ever so slightly across the table. "Would you be so kind as to name them, Jaime? I'm afraid you've peaked my curiosity." This is the point where he should stop.

He does not stop.

Instead he stands, walks around the table and pulls her to her feet. "I find your hair rather attractive, my lady. Your eyes as well." He runs a finger through an auburn strand and she smiles softly, eyes willing him to continue. "Your skin is lovely, as is your mouth. Your cheeks, your neck, your teats..."

And then he remembers where he is, whom he is with, and what he is sworn to do.

Jaime is sworn to protect, and this is far from protection.

He steps away swiftly, forcing himself not to allow his eyes to linger on the look of confusion on her face, or the look in her eyes. Instead he bows sharply and leaves the tent, ignoring the jeers from his fellow knights outside. He does not stop walking until he has reached his tent across the camp, and then he forces himself to sleep, and prays that he does not dream of her.

xxx

He wakes hours later to the sound of someone slipping into his tent.

Jaime knows it is her before she pulls back the hood of her cloak, red curls spilling over her shoulders. He wants to yell at her, tell her to leave, but he's tired. He's oh so _tired_ of fighting battles, wars he cannot win. So when she strips herself of everything she is wearing, throws her small clothes into the corner of his tent and brings her rain-soaked, naked body under his furs beside him, he finds that this is a battle he cannot win.

Sansa Stark is no longer a child. She is a woman of the North, cold and strong, and although he can still smell the wine on her body he knows that this is what she wants. The Queen in the North would take what she wanted, and if what she wanted was him, then that was what she would recieve

So instead of fighting he kisses her, and tries not to be to pleased when she smiles against his mouth.

xxx

The next morning he awakes to silence.

Sansa is sleeping soundly against his chest, her warm breath tickling his skin in a pleasant way he hasn't felt in years. He wonders if he should awake her, but she seems content to rest, and Jaime knows that rest is something she shall not get much of in the years to come.

She sleeps for another hour, letting him know she is awake by placing a small kiss inside the crook of his neck. When she notices the silence he hears her sigh, sitting up so she is facing him, as beautiful in the morning sober as she is drunk at night.

"Today we ride on." There is something else in her voice, an emotion Jaime can't decipher, so instead of trying he kisses her gently.

"Today we ride on."


End file.
